Page 13 of When He Defends

“Did you miss the part where I told you that I was a federal agent?” Gray asked, voice curious.

Emerson had followed him. Of course, she had. He made sure that he moved his body and stood in front of her.

“What?” Drunk and Obnoxious spun toward him.

“FBI Agent Gray Stone.” Gray nodded. Then he reached back, caught Emerson’s hand, and shoved his gun into her palm.

“Do I look like I fucking care?” The drunk bobbed. Lifted his foot to plow it into the door again. And?—

Gray caught him by the shoulder. “You’re destroying private property. You’re not allowed to do that.”

“Get your damn hand off me!”

Gray removed his hand. “You’re destroying private property.”

“I’m getting my girl! Misty, open the fucking door! Open the door now or you will pay, I swear, you will, and so will that brat-ass kid of yours!”

The door to room number two flew open. A woman stood there. Was she even twenty-one? Big, dark eyes. The left one was lined by a purplish bruise that was clear to see even in the weak light from her room.

A black eye. And what looked like fingerprint bruises on her throat.

“Go away, Trevor,” Misty told him. “We’re done.”

Yep, they were.

Tears trailed down Misty’s cheeks.

And, behind her, a small boy—maybe two years old? Three?—held tightly to her leg. His eyes were an exact mirror of his mom’s as he stared up at Trevor with terror on his face.

Trevor surged for the young woman. But Gray jumped into his path. He faced off with the bastard. “The lady says you’re done. That means you need to stay the hell away from her.”

Trevor swung at him.

Emerson screamed.

Gray took the hit. The jerk drove his fist into Gray’s stomach. Not even a particularly impressive hit. Gray had taken way worse. Hell, when his buddy Kane threw a punch, it was like getting hit by a bus. This punch? More like having a basketball bounce off your stomach.

Mostly just annoying but…

Gray leapt into action. He grabbed the guy’s wrist, yanked it behind Trevor’s scrawny back, and had the jackass on his knees and howling in about three seconds. “Gonna need my handcuffs,” he announced to Emerson. An Emerson who had lunged forward and now had the gun aimed—a rock-steady aim, by the way—at Trevor. “They are in my motel room. Will you get them for me, please?”

She lingered.

He glanced her way as Trevor snarled and twisted.

“You’re not going to do anything…reckless while I’m gone?” Suspicion laced Emerson’s voice.

Her lips were swollen. From his kiss. Her hair a bit disheveled. She held the gun and glared at the perp, and, damn, she was sexy.

I crossed a line with her. I should have held back.But he hadn’t. His control had broken. Because Emerson was a weakness for him.

“I’m hardly the reckless type,” he assured her. He tightened his grip when Trevor heaved hard. “The handcuffs, Emerson. I could use them about now.”

She darted away.

I’m only reckless when it comes to you.

He watched her rush away. And then…